


Heard it in a Love Song

by vernie_klein



Series: Like the Heart Goes [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: A Prius, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Smith/Wesson, Ask someone who has read before you delve, BDSM- AND THATS ALL THE WARNING YOU GET, Check out the comments, Dean loves Sammy, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, If any BDSM behavior squicks you..., If you must absolutely know what the BDSM is..., M/M, Mentions of past drug use, Part Fifteen in the Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 08:03:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4779944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vernie_klein/pseuds/vernie_klein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Part Fifteen in the Series</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A Love Story.... Smith and Wesson Style</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>This is the story of Sam and Dean Winchester. Not the story we've seen played out on our television screens a million times, but the story of what happened to get them to where they are today. The story of two brother's souls, so tightly woven together, that neither can be whole.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Heard it in a Love Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wantAwinchester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wantAwinchester/gifts).



> So sorry for the delay. My hubby broke my computer and it was out of commission for a few weeks. On the posi.... I wrote like 4 stories. They all need to be transcribed, but expect more soon.
> 
>  _Heard it in a Love Song_ was recorded by The Marshall Tucker Band and was written by Toy Caldwell
> 
> Not beta'd any mistakes are mine. For the Loverly wantAwinchester for her undying cheerleading! Enjoy, love!

Heard it in a Love Song  
S04e17  
It’s a Terrible Life

 

**_Heard it in a Love Song_ **

Dean rose, the sun shining in his eyes from the picture window across the room. He glanced at the beeping alarm clock. 5.30AM. Dean tapped the top surface and shut the alarm off. He pulled back the covers and padded to his en suite, pushed the button on the inside of his shower, turning on the pre-programmed water setting. He pulled off his black boxer briefs and relieved himself. Dean blinked the sleep out of his eyes and stepped into the glass enclosed shower.

He scrubbed his hair and body efficiently, making note to tell his housekeeper that he was almost out of pomegranate face scrub. He pushed the off button and stepped from the shower. Dean wrapped a towel from the shelf around his waist and scrunched his toes in the shag rug. Dean quickly brushed his teeth and ran a comb through his hair. He rubbed his Bayolea pomade on his hands to heat it up and slicked his fingers in his slightly damp hair, parting it expertly on the left. Dean ran his hands under the faucet and stepped from the room into his walk in closet.

Dean ran through the choices in suits. He had too many. Maybe it was time to send some to the shelter down on 5th. Most were Bespoke, but there was bound to be a few gentlemen who could benefit from Dean’s excess. He selected a dove grey Canali he ordered earlier in the year on his annual trip to Italy with his mother. A light blue shirt, red tie and suspenders completed the ensemble. He pulled grey socks and a pair of barely there boxer briefs from his top drawer. Dean dressed quickly as the smell of coffee flitted in from the kitchen.

Dean walked down the short white hallway and into the kitchen. He spied his favourite mug on the counter full of Organic Free Trade coffee. Dean noticed that Carmen, his cook, had left his breakfast on the side table along with a copy of that morning's New York Times. He plopped down on a bar stool and unfolded his paper. He would pick up a copy of the Wall Street Journal on his way into work. He lifted the cloche from the plate and smiled at the perfect eggs benedict underneath. He sat down at the breakfast bar and unfolded his linen napkin with a snap. He quickly ate his breakfast and downed his coffee.

Dean grabbed his filled carafe from the counter on his way to deposit his dishes in the sink. He may have had a housekeeper, but he didn’t want her to think he was a heathen. Dean opened his french door refrigerator and grabbed his packed lunch. Mondays were sushi days and he knew Carmen had procured his favourite types from her sushi chef friend. 

The Scientist from Coldplay started up in his pocket and he switched his coffee from his left hand to his right to push the button on the side of his bluetooth.

“Mother.” Dean acknowledged.

“Dean, sweetheart.” Dean’s mother Ellen began. “Ready to begin your day?”

Dean’s mother was a Defence Attorney in Lincoln. He knew she was preparing for her latest case- a Plastic Surgeon divorcing his wife of thirty years. “How’s the case, mom?” Dean smiled as he placed his coffee and lunch on the floor next to his shoe bench. He sat down and grabbed a pair of freshly polished loafers.

“Very nice deflection there, sweetheart. The case is fine. My client will get- or should I say _keep_ everything that’s his. Hired a Private Investigator two months ago. We have a meeting with him today to discuss his findings. Says he has some good pictures to show us.”

“So, another long day?” Dean finished slipping his shoes on and adjusted his grey wool socks. He grabbed his work essentials and his keys and headed out the door and down the hallway to the elevator.

“Always. That’s the price you pay for being a high profile Attorney.” Dean could almost hear his mother’s smile through the phone. 

“So, how’s dad?” Dean stepped inside the elevator and pushed the button marked ‘G’.

“Oh, you know your father. The Doctor tells him not to stress himself, but he’s in the office running those restaurants. You would think that after his _injury_...”

“Mom.” Dean stepped through the parking garage and clicked the button on his key fob. Dean opened the door to his silver 2009 Toyota Prius and slid behind the wheel. “His _injury_ was twenty years ago. And he was only shot in the knee, not in the head. You baby him.”

“Yes, dear. But that’s not why I called. Easter is coming and I wanted to know if you were coming home for a visit.”

Dean pulled away from the stop light and smiled. “I don’t know, mom. And before you ask… No, there is no one _special_ in my life.”

Ellen laughed. “What about that Adler boy? What’s his name… John- Mark-”

“Thomas, Mother. Really.” Dean chuckled back. “And he is my Boss’ son. We play squash on Wednesdays. It’s not like we really ever get together.”

“Oh, Dean. I just wish that you could find someone like your sister-”

“Don’t bring Jo’s- whatever he is into this. I don’t like Ralph. It’s- He’s _shady_.”

“Dean Michael Smith! You cannot talk about your sister’s fiance that way. He’s a well respected Physician-”

“Who’s eight years older than her. She’s _just_ starting Med School, mom. Do you think she needs the stress of _him_?” Dean could hear the shuffling of papers in the background and the slamming of a file cabinet. “Are you at work already?”

“I’ve been at work since 4 am, boy. And I should run. You’re at work anyway, right?”

Dean smiled. He’d just pulled into his spot. His mother had a sixth sense about stuff like that. “Yeah. I’ll call Dad tomorrow. Let him know?”

“Of course, honey. If you talk to that _brother_ of yours, will you tell him to call? He never answers the phone.”

Dean chuckled as he stepped away from his hybrid and made his way toward work. “You know _Dr Badass_ works on his own schedule over at MIT, right?”

Ellen laughed. Dean loved to hear her deep, soulful belly laugh. “Just tell Ash his Momma misses him.”

“Will do, Mom. Love you.” Dean swiped his badge at the employee entrance to Sandover Bridge & Iron.

“Love you too, baby.”

Dean hung his phone up and shoved it in the front pocket of his suit. He nodded to John, the morning Security Guard and strolled toward the elevator. He waited until the elevator stated they were on the 12th floor and stepped onto the plush carpet of the hallway. He never quite understood why Upper Management got lavish surroundings, but he was happy they did. He paused by his nameplate _Dean Smith, President- Strategic Marketing_. That promotion- and the Board spot it commanded had been hard earned. Dean had been at Sandover for five years. He started fresh out of college as a Junior VP of Marketing and Sales. He put in long hours and sacrificed his personal life for this position. Dean wanted to prove he was more than just his mother’s child- the son of a Lawyer and a State Trooper turned owner of the largest restaurant chain in the Midwest- The Roadhouse Bar  & Grill.

He set his coffee on the desk and pushed the button to turn on his computer. His lunch went into the mini-refrigerator under his back table. Dean swapped his cell Bluetooth out for his work one that allowed him to answer either phone with the push of a button. He booted up his email and began his day.

**_Heard it in a Love Song_ **

Dean groaned as his computer screen flickered twice before turning blue. He turned the machine off, waited a few seconds, then turned it on again. He knew that would be the first thing IT would ask when he called. Dean sighed as he took a long drink of coffee. He hit the side button of his Bluetooth and rolled his eyes. 

“IT Department, please.” He stated to the switchboard. Dean bobbed his head along to the bubblegum music of the 90’s.

_IT, Sam speaking._

“Sam.. It’s Dean Smith- Marketing. Say, listen… My computer isn’t working.” Dean pushed the enter button for what felt like the hundredth time.

 _Well…_ Dean could almost see the IT guy roll his eyes. _Have you tried turning it off, then on again?_

“Yes.” Dean stated curtly. “That was the first thing I did before I called you. The screen is still blue. I have a proposal meeting at 2 and I _need_ to run over my Power Point. Do you think you can come and take a look?”

Dean glanced at the clock. It was only 8.30.

_Well, I am sure that I can find time to fit you in before lunch-_

“That won’t work. I need you here, _now_. Do you who I am? I’m not some _two bit lacky_ in a monkey suit. You’re speaking to the President of Strategic Marketing.”

 _Oh, yes… Mr President, Sir._ Dean could hear the sarcasm in the other man’s voice. _I’ll be up in a minute- Don’t touch anything._

The line went dead and Dean leaned back in his chair. He pulled his phone from his pocket and fired up his web browser. Dean clicked on the IT Department registry and scrolled through the employee bios. There were two Sams that worked in IT. Well- one really. The other was a _Samantha_. Dean clicked the picture of a very built, brown haired man named Samuel J Wesson. He was twenty-six and had been with Sandover for six months. Dean clicked another link and put in his password to gain access to Sam’s HR Record. He chuckled at the thought that he could access to anyone’s records. Dean scrolled through the personal stuff, not really caring where he went to school or worked at previously. He took in Wesson’s stellar track record with tickets and his perfect attendance. He was up for a Promotion in a few weeks to a Level 3 Supervisor position. His boss found him more than capable and it looked as if they were waiting on the Department Head’s okay to make an offer. Dean pursed his lips and nodded. He could always appreciate a hard-worker.

Dean looked up at the knock on his door. The frosted glass door opened and in stepped the tallest man Dean had ever seen. 

“Mr Smith?” His heart stilled of a moment at the _beauty_ of the young man. His badge picture did him _no_ justice. Sam Wesson had chin length mousy brown hair in a shaggy cut that made him look like he had just had sex. He was broad shouldered and narrow waisted. His hands were like baseball mitts. Dean was lost when he smiled, it was as if he was the only light in an otherwise dark room. And those _dimples_... Dean could write love songs about his dimples. He was _so_ in love. He let loose his breath and shook his head.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Dean stated as he rose belatedly and stuck out his hand.

“Sam Wesson. But… you already knew that.” He took Dean’s hand and shook twice. The warmth that radiated off his palm made Dean want to strip every piece of clothing from his body to get close to the source. It was then that he realised what the younger man had said. He raised an eyebrow as Sam dropped his gaze to the desk. Dean sucked in a breath, still not releasing Sam’s hand as he took in the face of his iPhone. 

“Shit?” Dean chuckled and let go. He blushed and dropped his head. “Sorry, just wanted to know what you looked like.”

Dean snatched his phone off the table and closed the app. He smiled sweetly at Sam, hoping he would forgive the slight. 

Sam rocked on his heels and shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “So… You have the _Blue Screen of Death_ , huh?”

Dean laughed. “That’s what it’s called? I never knew.”

“Yeah.” Sam smiled. “Can I?” He gestured to the computer at the desk.

Dean nodded and moved out from in front of his chair so that Sam could take over.

“No… Don’t move on my accord. I can squat.” Dean sat back down in his chair and rolled away from the table. “Just work like you normally would- well, minus the computer. It could take me an hour depending on what’s _actually_ wrong.”

Sam squatted in front of the desk. Dean pictured his thigh muscles rippling under his khakis… He bit back a moan as Sam’s ass flexed before settling into a neutral position. Dean chewed on his bottom lip. He wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into those meaty globes. “If it’s gonna be that long…. You really should have a chair.” Dean admitted grudgingly. 

Sam clicked a few buttons on the machine he had plugged into the USB port. “If you want to get me one, that’s fine. But really, I don’t need one.”

Dean laughed and stood from his chair. He pushed it toward Sam and twisted his torso. “I’ll be back. I’m going to get an extra chair from the Boardroom.”

Sam nodded absently as he flopped into Dean’s Executive Desk Chair. Dean thought he heard a sigh leave the younger man’s lips at the comfort the chair provided. He smiled and shook his head as he stepped out into the hallway.

“Hey! Dean!” Dean best friend, Thomas Adler called from the far end of the hallway. Thomas was tall, lean, very fit- and _very_ straight. That never stopped Ellen Harvelle-Smith from trying to get the two of them together. Thomas was taller than Dean by about an inch and built like a dancer. His blonde hair was artfully tousled and highlighted in a way that made it look as if the sun bleached it. He wore De la Renta like a model, straight out of Vogue Magazine. Dean was jealous. Sure, he was good looking, but he had always been told he was _pretty_ and had _feminine_ features. Thomas was beautiful in that _JFK_ ruggedness. 

“Thomas!” Dean approached his best friend and grabbed him around the shoulders in a friendly hug. “We still up for squash after work?”

“Of course.” Thomas laughed and pulled away. “I have a date tonight, so we have to keep it short.”

“A date?” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Elizabeth. In Accounting.” Thomas smiled. “She’s a solid 8.75.”

“Steppin’ up in the world. But wait- she’s not an Assistant, is she? You can’t date Underlings.” Dean shook his head. Thomas was the VP of Outside Sales, and as a member of the Executive Management Team, couldn’t date anyone lower than a Level 3 Supervisor.

“Well…” Thomas smirked.

“At least say she’s over twenty-one.”

“She is. Twenty-two. Only ten years my junior. That’s nothing, right?” Thomas smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to get away with it only because your father is the CEO.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Hey. Will you do me a favour and marry this one? Mother seems to think that you and I would make a great _power couple_. If you’re off the market, maybe she’ll leave me alone about it.”

“Well, I’ll think about it. You never know, maybe if I got a _taste_ of your _twig and berries_ , I would decide that you’re the one for me…” Thomas smirked and reached around to smack Dean on the ass. Dean shook his head. “I already think you have a better ass than most of the women I’ve dated.”

“Aww… You sure know how to make a girl blush.” Dean smiled and swatted Thomas back in the ass, grabbing a handful on the pull back. “Now… Go away. I have IT in my office and-”

“That tall, shaggy-haired guy?”

“That’s the one.” Dean turned his head back to his door.

“Gunna hit that?” Thomas smirked.

“I don’t even know if he’s gay, Thomas.” Dean sighed. “Anyway, I need to go to the Boardroom and grab a chair. Mr _Shaggy Hair_ is in mine, and I need to work.”

“See you at 4!”

“Later.” Dean smiled as his friend walked into the men’s room. He turned into the next door on the left and snagged a chair. Dean wheeled the high back leather chair to his office and closed the door behind him to give them some privacy. Wesson might not be gay, but by the time he left Dean’s office the elder man would know.

Dean pushed his chair up to the other side of his polished mahogany desk and grabbed the file he had been working out of. He had to present a cohesive plan to Operations on how to increase their company’s market penetration. They held the lion’s share of the iron sales to Union Pacific and Tishman Realty & Construction- the company rebuilding the World Trade Center, but Alder wasn’t happy with that. He wanted to sell to Burlington Northern Santa Fe. Dean was working on the presentation to to get the Sandover name out there to make BNSF come to them. Adler never wanted to sound needy. He was a shark. People came to _them_. His proposal would integrate targeted physical campaigns, coupled with the ever exploding internet. Dean knew that he had to approach this campaign like anything else he did to get the Sandover name out there. He flipped the pages one by one, glancing at the handsome IT Tech. Dean took in his strong, square jaw- totally lickable, by the way. His slightly slanted almond eyes were like a kaleidoscope. The colours swirled and never settled on just one. Dean took in the way Sam’s hair artfully framed his face. Just long enough to tuck behind his ears, a few strands fell in his eyes and made him appear younger than he was.

He took in Wesson’s capable hands as they flew across the keyboard. He pictures those hands wrapped around his wrists, or better yet- his neck. Dean imagined the younger man slowly squeezing to the point where the line between pleasure and pain blurred. He pictured those long, nimble fingers gently opening him up. Dean wondered if Wesson had a large cock to go with his overly large proportions. Dean glanced away when Wesson caught him staring.

“See something you like?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

Dean shrugged and tilted his head. “Maybe… But I don’t know you… _And_ I don’t do quick and easy. I’m too old for that.”

Sam smiled, his dimples framing his lips and Dean fell a little more in love. “Good. Let’s get to know each other. You already know a little about me.” Dean blushed and lowered his head in shame. “But, I- I am at a distinct disadvantage. I know your name- your job title…. That you’re _fit_ , but beyond that? Enlighten me, Mr Smith.” Sam leaned back in Dean’s chair and threaded his hands behind the back of his head.

“Well, let’s see. I am thirty. Oldest of three kids. My brother Ash, no significant other, is twenty-seven and doing Post-Doctorate work in computers at MIT. He’s working on a project on AI that is revolutionary. My little sister, Jo is twenty-two, starting Med School in a few months. Her fiance-” Dean made a disgusting face. “ _Ralph_ , is a Doctor of Orthopaedics _and_ six months older than me. She wants to go into Neurosciences and partner with Ash someday. My mom, Ellen Harvelle-Smith is a high-powered Defence Attorney in Nebraska. She’s licensed to practise in six states and is well respected and consults on cases all over the country.” 

“Is she _that_ Harvelle?” Sam interrupted.

“She is. Old money. Parents and Grandparents in a long line of Doctors and Lawyers, Investment Bankers and Politicians. Mom never wanted any of that. She _did_ marry a cop. My dad, Bobby- he is a former officer. State Trooper for fifteen years before he was shot. Then, he went to NLETC- Nebraska Law Enforcement Training Center and became a Teacher. He still has a class or two. Mostly he runs-”

“The Roadhouse. Yeah. I’ve been to the one in Indy a time or two. Good food.” Sam smiled.

“Yeah, I handled the books for the one in Grand Island while I was in school. I’ve never been to the one in Indy. They opened it while I was away at college.”

“Ah. Well, you’ve told me about your mom- your dad, sister and brother. But what about you? What makes Dean Smith _tick_?”

“Not much- No, really. I went to Public School, then was sent away out East to Boarding School. Attended Columbia then Stanford. I do volunteer work in Haiti for two weeks every year and I own a cabin in Upstate New York. I spent two weeks there every summer.”

“Haiti? In the winter?” Dean nodded. 

“Cool. I’ve never been out of the country. What kind of work do you do down there?”

Dean closed his file and figured that he wouldn’t be getting any work done while Wesson was there. “I do whatever is needed. Last year we built a few houses and replaced the roof on a school. I help the Doctors that go down there organise their files and check patients into the clinic. It’s mostly grunt work, but Thomas- my best friend, says that even grunt work is important work.”

“It is. I volunteer at the soup kitchen downtown. It’s not much, but it's something.” Sam ducked his head.

“It’s great.” Dean beamed. “Any volunteer work is great. I used to think that I was below that, but my cousin, Cassandra insisted that I go when I was thirteen- eighteen years ago…. and I was hooked. I hated it the first few days, but after meeting the people… I fell in love. I have seen kids grow up, get married, even have babies. It’s great they have no problems with me being gay- unlike some people.” 

Dean shrugged his shoulders and let out a sigh. “So, Sam… tell me about yourself.” 

Dean watched as Sam took a deep breath and clicked a few buttons. “There’s not much to tell, really. I sure haven’t done anything as meaningful as you. My dad John is a Mechanic and my mom- Mary is a Nurse at the Hospital. Dad is half Owner of Wesson Auto Body. I have a twenty-one year old brother- Adam. He’s Pre-Med at University of Wisconsin- Madison. I went to the University of Illinois- Chicago. Got my CS Engineering degree and landed a job with Apple.”

“What happened?” Dean interrupted.

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I fucked- sorry, I got really fucked up. Drugs. Got into Heroin. There was this guy-”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Dean laid a hand on Sam’s bare forearm. He curled his fingers around the tanned flesh and squeezed. 

“No- It’s okay. It’s cathartic, you know? His name was Emerson. I met him my first week in. He was great.” Sam smiled at the memory. “He was so sweet and wined and dined me. Things were good for six months. I was doing well at my job- Software Engineering is my specialty. I had just been named Lead Engineer on a _huge_ project, one that thanks to my drug addiction, set the company back about two years. I was twenty-one. So much of my life ahead of me, Emerson took me to this party. He said it was to celebrate the Promotion. He was pretty hardcore into the BDSM Scene- not D/s, but he was quite the Sadist. I was young, naive…. No one told me drugs and the Scene don’t mix. Emerson thought he could get me to loosen up, and he did. The next two years, I was addicted- to Emerson, to the Heroin. My neighbour found me face down in a puddle of my own vomit at the bottom of the stairs. He called an ambulance and the cops. By then, it was too late.” Sam sighed heavily.

“Emerson had died of an overdose outside. The neighbour didn’t know until EMS showed up. He couldn’t figure out why they weren’t taking care of me. They thought he had called about Emerson.” Sam let out a shaky breath. “I had just been fired, threatened to be sued. Had an injunction slapped at me to pay restitution to Apple for the damages I caused. I was high when I fucked their code. To top it off, I had been served an eviction notice the day before.”

Dean gasped and his hand tightened further around Sam’s forearm. Obviously, the story turned out okay, as Sam was sitting right there in front of him.

“I was taken to the hospital, my parents were called as my next of kin and I spent the next two years in a facility for mental patients and drug addicts. My parents had thought I was too _messed_ up for a plain old rehab facility. They were right. It kept me out of jail, though. Apple didn’t want to prosecute a crazy person. I was suicidal. Not because of the drugs, but because Emerson’s death hit me pretty hard. I didn’t love him- not in the healthy way that I could have outside of our circumstances, but I loved him in my own way. I’ve been out for eight months now. Six of them at this job. IT is just a stepping stone to getting back in the _real_ world.”

“Do you go to meetings?” Sam nodded absently. “Sundays and Thursdays. Helps keep the temptation off the weekend.”

“I hear you there. I don’t do much… Squash three times a week, a beer or two with the boys on Friday night. Other than that- I’m boring. What can you even get up to with no temptation?” Dean winced at his own words. They were harsh and condescending. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t be, Dean. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” Sam smiled. “I’m here, I’m sober… That’s what matters. I’m a homebody most of the time. I hang out in museums and libraries. Not cool- I know, but-”

“Naw, man… That’s totally cool. I like museums.” Dean laughed. Sam smiled wide at Dean’s laugh. Dean stared at Sam’s perfect teeth, his deep set dimples… the tiny amount of scruff on his cheeks and chin. His eyes were brilliant green-brown with the tiniest rim of blue in the edge. Dean could get lost in those eyes- shit, who was he kidding. He was already lost.

**_Heard it in a Love Song_ **

Sam smiled at Dean. He knew the older man was smitten, which Sam thought odd. How anyone could hear his story and still want to take a chance on him was beyond his comprehension. He turned toward Dean’s computer and clicked a few buttons. He _was_ working after all. 

“Maybe we could go to a museum sometime?” Dean asked.

Sam ducked his head. Of course, he was ignoring Dean. Not on purpose- sometimes he just got lost in his work. “Sure… I’d love to go to a museum with you. It would be fun.” Sam was happy. The kind of happy you get when you just _know_ you’ve made a lifelong friend.

Dean was smiling. They started swapping life stories. The one time Dean tried to bake a pie in one of his family’s restaurants. How he not only didn’t peel and core the apples, but tried to bake it on 500 degrees. He shared the time he thought he was Superman. Sam shared the time he jumped off the shed roof and broke his arm after someone convinced him he was Batman, to which Dean replied that _Batman can’t fly, Sammy… Everyone knows that!_

Sam talked about his golden retriever, Bones- who he had gotten for his fourteenth birthday and how when Bones had to be put down ten years later, he was still in the hospital. He told Dean about the Mathletes and the Debate Team, and listened to Dean talk about acting school and doing print ad modelling as a teenager. He vowed to find Dean’s infamous _Brick Pants_ ad. Dean talked about his Marketing degree, how he went on to Stanford Law and received his Juris Doctor. How he did it to make his mom happy, but how he’d never practice Law.

Sam was sad for Dean when he heard that. He had always been free to follow his own dreams. His parents gave him free reign to explore and wings to fly. He told Dean this is part of the reason he fell into drugs. No one was there to give him a safety net. And he paid the price.

Dean sighed, offered silent support in the form of a hand on his arm. Sam was appreciative. He allowed himself to really look around Dean’s office. There were no family photos, no momento’s of youth. Nothing that said he had a life outside of work. It was completely sterile. He sucked in a sharp breath when he took in the time on the clock. “ _Fuck_!” 

“What?” Dean questioned startled. His eyes followed Sam’s to the clock on the wall. “ _Fuck_!”

The clock read 1.40PM. Sam knew Dean had a meeting in twenty minutes. “I’ve… I’m sorry.” Sam unplugged his portable form Dean’s tower and haphazardly threw it in his messenger bag. He ran his hand through his hair and let out a shaky breath.

“No… Sam….” Dean grabbed Sam’s arm. “Deep breaths, man. Com’on. In and out.”

Dean smiled as Sam took a breath in and tried to follow Dean’s commands. After a minute or two of controlled breathing, he felt his panic attack slide away. 

“Sorry.” Sam gave a half smile, slightly awkward and he knew it made him look constipated.

“Man, don’t be sorry. It’s okay… I get it. You’re fine. Besides, you got here at 9.30, right?” Sam nodded. “So, isn’t it testimony to how well we get along that all these hours have gone by? You fixed my computer by, what? 10.15? I enjoyed your company, Sam.” Dean took a step closer to the taller man, their chests almost touching. “Really.”

His fingers walked up Sam’s bare arm. “Enjoyed.” Dean stepped fully into Sam’s immediate space, their bodies so close that Sam didn’t think you could slide a paper between. “Our.” He curled his free hand around Sam’s hip. “Talk.” Dean stood on his tiptoes and whispered into Sam’s ear, lightly flicking the lobe with his tongue.

Dean pulled away and dropped both of his hands from Sam’s body. Sam felt a sudden, terrible loss as Dean smirked. He winked his left eye and waggled his eyebrows. Sam chuckled and shook his head.

“I enjoyed our talk too.” Sam smiled back, knowing his crazy dimples were on display. He bent over to grab his messenger bag and knew Dean was staring at his ass. He stood up, shook his hair out of his face and nodded. “Well… It was a pleasure. Let me know, _Dean_ , if there is ever _anything_ else I can do for you.”

“I’m sure I can find something.” Dean glanced at the clock again. 

“Well, Get to your meeting, Mr Smith. And let me know when you need IT’s Services. My direct extension is 12479.” Sam shouldered his bag and walked to the door. He turned the handle and stepped out into the hallway. Sam sighed slightly. He didn’t want to leave and break the magic of that room.

“Hey, Sam?” 

Sam turned around and raised an eyebrow at the older man. “Huh?”

“Do you think we could do it again?” Dean blushed.

“Well… I may be persuaded to see you again.”

“Good.” Dean cleared his throat. “If your boss gives you any flack, let me know. I’ll set him straight.”

Sam nodded and waited a beat to make sure Dean had nothing more to say. When he was sure the older man was done speaking, he removed his hand from the doorknob and snuck out into the hallway. Sam pulled the door closed behind him and leaned against the glass. His heart was still beating out of his chest. Sam felt the butterflies in his stomach and a sense of giddiness washed over him. Oh, he couldn't _wait_ to see that man again.

**_Heard it in a Love Song_ **

Sam flopped down in his chair and smiled. He knew he wanted to see Dean Smith again.

“Sam the Man.” The man behind Sam patted his shoulder as he stood from his chair. “We missed you at the caf for lunch. What gives? Exec Man giving you a hard time?”

“No, Ian. He didn’t. It was a difficult ticket, but I got it fixed.” Sam smiled at the lie.

“Dude. I don’t think I coulda spent that much time with _any_ of the Execs, let alone Smith.”

“Why?” Sam got up from his seat and followed Ian to the mini break room on the floor. He figured that he deserved a break, even though he had spent the last almost four hours with _very_ pleasant company.

“You haven’t heard about Smith?” Ian gave Sam a scandalous look. He glanced around the break room, Sam assumed he was worried someone would jump out at him. He leaned forward into Sam’s _very_ personal space and whispered. “He’s _gay_.”

Sam jumped back, a look of fake shock on his face. “Oh. My. God!” Sam chuckled. “Say it isn’t so!”

Ian smacked Sam on the arm. “Seriously. He is! I heard him and _Little Adler_ have a _thing_.”

“I don’t know, man.” Sam sighed. “He’s pretty hot though.”

Ian gasped. “Are you, _gay_?”

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. “If I _was_ , would you have a problem with it?”

Ian blinked back his shock. “Well… No, I guess not. You’re gunna hit on me, aren’t you? Cause, dude.. I don’t swing that way.”

“ _Dude_.” Sam scoffed. “Why does every straight guy think that every gay guy wants to get in their pants? I have _no_ desire to sleep with someone who isn’t interested in me. I have standards too, and _nothing_ against you… but you’re not _my_ type. That’s another thing all straight guys assume. That we all find them attractive somehow. Do you find every girl you meet attractive?”

“Well… no.” Ian stammered.

Sam threw his hands in the air and walked back to his cubicle. He spent the next two hours convincing people to turn their devices off and on. He fulfilled six tickets from his desk and only got up when he needed to hit the head at 3PM.

4.15 came quickly and Sam set his headset down. He flipped his status to unavailable and shut down his computer. He was slightly disappointed that Dean hadn’t called him at all that afternoon, but he understood that he had probably been in his meeting the rest of the day. 

He walked toward the elevator and pushed the down button repeatedly. He had decided that he needed an extra meeting that week. Even though he was attending a meeting the next day, he knew there was one at the Lutheran Church on Main at 5PM. Luckily, it wasn’t a closed group. He had been a few times, and the members were really nice. He had gone four days a week when he first left rehab. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to start going that often again.

Sam stepped inside the elevator and pressed the ‘L’ button. He rode in comfortable silence to the Lobby and swiped his card at Bike Storage. Sam waited for the attendant to retrieve his bike. It was nice that Sandover had a Bike Concierge. It encouraged people to bike to work. Plus, Sam suspected that Sandover got a tax break from the city of Sandusky for being Environmentally Conscious. He accepted his bike and left out the roll-up door at the Concierge. That was another great perk- bicyclists had their own entrance into the building.

Sam began his four mile ride home wondering what exactly Dean was doing at that moment. He knew he played squash a couple of times a week with _Thomas_. But was it really squash? Or was it a euphemism for something else? Maybe Dean and Thomas were really lovers. Sam _really_ hoped that was not the case. He thought with all the flirting that maybe, just maybe, this could lead to something. Not that they could _do_ anything in the public eye. Dean was a Board Member after all, and Sam really needed this job. No, if Dean truly wanted anything with Sam, it would have to be in _Secret_. With a capital ‘S’. _And_ , he couldn’t afford to allow emotions to come into play. That was the most important part of the whole thing. Not that it could- _would_ ever come to that. Sam didn’t know if Dean liked him or if he was just a big flirt.

He rode up to his building door, his head an even bigger mess than when he left work. He jumped off his bike and carried it through the door, jostling his bag as he attempted to fit his big frame through. No Bike Concierge here. Not even a Doorman. Sam figured the building Dean lived in would be one of the fanciest in town. He bet Dean had a Doorman, and an Elevator Operator, Maids and a Cook. Sam shook his head as he opened the door to the stairwell. _In for a penny, in for a pound_ \- his mother always said.

Sam huffed up the five flights of stairs to his one bedroom apartment. He unlocked his door and opened it to a cool blast of the A/C. He always ran hot and the unit had some of the best air conditioning he had ever experience. It was worth the tiny elevator and no Doorman. It was only mid-March, but Sam had had the air running since a week after Valentine’s Day. He took a refreshing breath, pulling air _deep_ into his lungs and propped his bike against the wall. His keys went into a bowl on the front table and his shoes were slid underneath. Sam stripped his yellow Sandover Tech Staff polo and stretched his muscles. He moved gracefully into the living room and chucked off his socks and unbuckled his belt. Sam popped the button on his khakis and let them fall to the floor. He deftly stepped from his pants and scooped them and the socks off the floor and threw all his clothes onto the lazy chair. Sam stood- chiseled body and tanned flesh, on his toes for a full minute before dropping to the floor and, alternating arms, did two hundred one-handed pushups. He rolled onto his back and rotated side to side flexing his abs. Sam jumped to his feet, grabbed his chin-up bar and secured it to the hallway entrance. He had to bend his knees and cross his feet to actually _do_ his chin-ups, but he made it work. Someday he would have high vaulted ceilings that would give him the ability to install a permanent bar in his home. He pushed through a hundred chin-ups and dropped to the floor.

Sam pushed back his sweaty hair and padded to the kitchen. It was not overly large, but it suited his bachelor needs well. He pulled a Gatorade from the fridge and down the blue drink in a few swallows. Sam quickly rinsed the clear plastic and tossed it into the recycle container by the counter. He walked to his pants in the living room, emptied the pockets on the side table and went into the bathroom to shower. He dumped his work clothes in his hamper and made a mental reminder to actually _do_ his laundry that night. The boxer briefs followed and Sam hissed as the sweaty material caught on his half erect cock on the way down. He half stepped from the cotton and flung them up to his hand from his foot. Sam chucked the boxers in the hamper and turned toward his shower.

He had convinced the landlady to let him remodel the shower to fit his large frame. Most showerheads hit him mid-chest. He had a friend that was a contractor and he fitted the apartment with a deluxe shower. Four jets eased his aches and pains as a rain shower head refreshed him from head to toe. He was able to change the intensity of the jets and it even had a removable showerhead for when he was getting ready for a night out. 

Sam twisted the knobs to hot and waited a few minutes for the water to warm. He stepped into the glass enclosed space and sighed. Sam figured that after the stresses of the day, it was a pulse kinda night and he adjusted the jets accordingly, the hot water relaxing his muscles. Sam had one of those funky dispensers that had compartments for his shampoo, conditioner, and bodywash. Adam had bought it for him out of one of those Skymall catalogues on his Senior class trip to Mexico. Sam pushed the button to dispense his coconut bodywash on a poof and lathered up, paying attention to his cock and hole. Sam didn’t want to get himself too excited, so he just made sure they were squeaky clean. Sam’s cock on the other hand had other plans. He ran the soft poof over his erection, squeezing lightly at the base. The rhythmic pull and twist gave him plenty of time to fantasise about Dean as he braced himself against the cold tile with one hand. Sam wondered what Dean’s freckles would taste like. He would give anything to be able to count and lick each one. He wondered if Dean was covered with freckles in other places too. Sam figured he could always strip Dean down to find out. A low pressure was building up in his abdomen and Sam’s breath hitched as he pictured Dean naked and writhing on his back, Sam’s fingers buried deep in his ass. 

He pulled and twisted his aching cock harder at the thought of burying his face in Dean’s ass and eating him out with abandon. He pictured the tiny, pink furrow and couldn’t wait to lap at the muscle. Sam felt his balls draw up and into his body as his orgasm punched out of him. He gasped as rope after rope of thick, white come hit the tiled wall. Sam’s knees gave out and he fell to the floor, his hand still moving up and down on the sensitive, softening flesh. Sam was panting and his heart raced as he tried to calm down. He gulped down huge breaths and closed his eyes. Sam hadn’t come like that in years.

The water started to get cold and Sam stood quickly. He blinked away the grey spots in his vision and shook his head. He twisted the hot water up slightly and nudged the dispenser to give him some shampoo. Sam hurried through his hair, making sure to condition properly and shut the water off. Sam stepped from the shower, dripping wet and flexed his toes in the plush bath rug. He pulled the cornflower blue towel his mom gave him from the shelf and wrapped it around his waist, stepping from the room.

**_Heard it in a Love Song_ **

Dean smiled as he looked around his office. The chair from the day before was still there. He took a deep breath and pushed the button on his Bluetooth for the switchboard. It was now or never. “Food Services.” Dean paced the office while waiting for someone to answer the phone.

_Food Services, Melissa._

“Melissa, Dean Smith- Marketing. I would like to order lunch for today.” Dean smiled. “I need two summer berry salads with microgreens. Both with raspberry vinaigrette. I need a baguette… A container of olive oil, and two bottles of water.”

_Of course, Mr Smith. Working lunch?_

“Of a sort.” Dean chuckled. “Did you make any tarts today?” 

_Mr Smith- You wound me. Does the day end in ‘Y’? Because, if it does… I made tarts._

“You are the best, Melissa. I would _die_ if it wasn’t for you.”

_No you wouldn’t, Dean… Your chef doesn’t let you starve._

“Ah… But you won’t give Carmen your peach tart recipe.” Dean sat at his desk and punched out an email.

_Carmen has never asked me for it. Tell her if she calls her sister for once, I will give it to her. Now… You want your lunch when?_

**xxx**

A knock on the door startled Dean out of his daydream. He had been imagining Sam on his knees under the desk sucking him off. It had been a good thought too. It was a good thing that Food Services was at the door. It had just barely kept Dean from coming in his pants. And wouldn’t that have ruined the day? 

He stood and made his way across the short expanse to the frosted glass door. He unlocked and opened the door, gesturing the delivery boy and his cart inside. Dean watched on as the younger man set up lunch on Dean’s desk. He pulled out his money clip and peeled off a bill gesturing with it to the young man.

“Jonathan… How are night classes going?”

“Good, Mr Smith. I got an ‘A’ on my Econ paper.” Jonathan smiled as he pocketed the crisp hundred dollar bill.

“Good for you. Let me know if you ever need assistance with your homework. You still have my number, right?” 

“Course I do, Mr Smith. It’s in my phone. I promise to call if I need it.” Jonathan smiled and glanced down at the lunch set out for two. “Lunch date? Who’s the lucky guy?”

Dean shook his head and chuckled as Jonathan smirked. “Shoo. I already give you enough money. You’ll be extorting me to no end.” 

“It’s not the young Mr Adler, is it?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yes, it is a lunch date. No, it is not with Thomas. I _do_ hope that the feeling is mutual, but until I know…. You will have to be kept in the dark too. Now, shoo!”

Jonathan threw his head back in laughter. His black curls bounced around his youthful face. Dean still found it hard to believe that He was Jo’s age. He looked fifteen. Dean was reminded of floppy brown hair and legs for miles…. A wicked smile and colour-changing eyes. He shook his head and smiled as Jonathan walked out the door with a chuckle and a _good-bye_. Dean couldn’t for the life of him remember who he had known at fifteen that fit that description.

He walked over to his desk and sat down in the cool leather. Dean glanced at his clock- 11.45. Five more minutes and he would make the call. He stared at the clock until 11.50, then hit the button on his hands free and asked for the IT Director.

_Wilson Winston- IT speaking._

“Winston, Dean Smith- Marketing. Say, I know it’s lunch time, but I’m in quite a pickle.”

_What’s the problem, Dean? And quit being so formal. I thought we were friends. You wound me._

Dean laughed. “Whatever, _Wilson Winston- IT_. Anyway, I had the um… _Blue Screen of Death_ yesterday. Sam Wesson came up and fixed it, but I am afraid that I have caused it to happen again. Can you have him come up right away? This can’t wait until after lunch. I have a report due at 1.00PM”

_Dean… Really? That’s your excuse? Oh… He’s walking by my door now. Probably headed to out to Chinese with Ian Morgan. Wesson! Smith in Marketing needs you A-SAP. Looks like no going out to lunch for you!_

Dean heard unintelligible grumbling followed by what sounded like a door slamming.

_Well, Dean… He’s on his way up to you as we speak. But be wary. He is an absolute bear when he misses lunch. I hope for your sake you know what you’re doing._

Dean laughed. “That’s okay Wilson…. Little does he know, I’ve got that covered. Speaking of which- I think I hear him fuming down the hall.”

The door flew open, frosted glass quivering as it hit the metal frame behind. In the doorway, an angry giant of a man stood. His normally pushed back hair flew wild. His face was red and Dean could tell his fingernails were digging deep into his palm.

Wilson laughed. _Have fun, Dean._

“Talk to you later.” Dean pushed the end button on his headset and smiled at the behemoth of a man.

“Dean.” Sam warned.

“Sam. Come in.” Dean gestured into the office.

Sam was silent as he stalked into the office, his hands still clenched in fists. He narrowed his eyes, and if looks could kill, Dean would _so_ be dead. Sam stomped around to Dean’s side of the desk and glared into Dean’s smiling, upturned face.

“I don’t know who you _think_ you are…” Sam started; an angry, deep tone to his voice. “...but let me tell you something. I do _not_ appreciate being torn from _my_ lunch hour to fix _your_ shit. You Execs are all the same… _Pompous_ , _Arrogant_ , dickwads. Quit breaking it. Or… better yet, call someone else.”

Dean began to laugh as Sam fumed. Sam raised an eyebrow and scrunched up his face. He relaxed his hands and Dean watched on as Sam took in Dean’s perfectly working computer and the luncheon feast he had provided for the two of them. Dean saw the tension bleed out of Sam’s body and he began to laugh.

“Oh my- Dean you-” Sam started, unable to catch his breath to speak. “I can’t believe you!”

Sam smiled so freely, Dean thought he could rival the Sun in it’s brightness. Dean was automatically pulled into Sam’s good mood.

“Hey.. I have been known to have a good idea a time or two.” Dean joked.

“I could- this is-” Sam sputtered. “This is better than the stir fry Ian was going to try shoving down my throat. I could kiss you right now.”

Dean stilled as Sam brought his hands up to frame his face. Sam started to lower his lips to Dean’s. He closed his eyes and tried his hardest not to hold his breath. He just couldn’t believe it. Sam’s breath ghosted over Dean’s lips. Dean bit the inside of his cheek trying to hold back his moan. “ _Sam_...” He breathed.

Dean felt Sam still. He groaned at the loss of Sam’s hands on his face as they were abruptly dropped.

“Shit.” Dean opened his eyes at the curse word. 

“Fuck. Shit.” Sam continued. “I didn’t mean it. Well- I mean… I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Sam began to pace the room. He tugged his hair and let out a sharp bark of a laugh. “Fuck… I can’t- I have..”

“Sam!” Dean roared. Sam stopped in his tracks, his hand millimetres from his hair. He turned fully to Dean and cocked his head in question. Dean figured it was now, or never. He stalked toward the taller man.

“Sam…” Dean slid up into Sam’s personal space. “Sam.” He said deeply, voice husky with lust as he reached up for Sam’s hair. He felt Sam shudder under his gaze as Dean’s smiled turned predatory. 

Dean slotted their mouths together. He pulled Sam’s face closer. Dean licked and nipped at Sam’s soft lips. He felt Sam gasp and licked into the other man's mouth. Dean tried his hardest to keep the kiss sweet, doing his best to keep from taking Sam on the table- food be damned. Sam sighed and brought his hands up to -finally- frame Dean’s hips. Dean pulled away slightly, breaking the kiss. He wanted this, but knew he had to take it slow. His head rested lightly on Sam’s shoulder and he twined the slim fingers of his other hand through Sam’s locks.

“Dean.” Sam breathed his name like a prayer. It felt like _home_. “That-”

“Shh…” Dean hushed. “Enjoy.”

Dean felt Sam’s hands tighten around his waist as he chuckled. “Oh, I _am_ enjoying this. It’s just- wow. Just, wow.”

“I know. And that was one kiss. Imagine what this-” Dean thrust his erection toward Sam’s thigh. He allowed the pressure to build as it shot sparks up and down his body. “-is going to do to you later.”

“Dean…” Sam moaned and pulled him closer. Dean closed his eyes and soaked up the feeling of belonging. Of being _complete_. As if he was only one half without Sam with him. Maybe that explained the memories of a young Sam that he was getting. He shook his mind from the thought and focused on the here and now.

The here being Sam’s rock hard erection pressed against his upper thigh. It felt _huge_. The now being that he really wanted Sam to prove just how _big_ he was. Dean was a bit of a size queen after all, and Sam could definitely deliver.

“Sam…” Dean whispered and flicked his tongue against the shell of the taller man’s ear. “I want- _God_ , how I want, Sammy.”

Sam chuckled and pulled away slightly. “And I want to give it all to you… But not here, not right now.”

Sam kissed Dean’s forehead. It was a ghosting of lips on smooth, freckled skin, but it was enough to placate the older man. “Now… I _believe_ you invited me for lunch?”

**xxx**

Sam smiled all the way to his cubicle from the elevator. He flopped in his seat and whipped his headset on. He glanced back at Ian and waggled his eyebrows.

“Dude. What are you so _happy_ about?” Ian raised a suspecting eyebrow.

“Oh, just had an _amazing_ lunch with Dean.” Sam whistled and looked around the room.

“Did you? You did- You-”

“No!” Sam shushed Ian and motioned his hands for his co-worker to sit down. “No.. We didn’t- Seriously. We just kissed.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “And rutted- a little. But that's it! No one got off. It wasn’t about that.”

Ian chuckled. “Okay…. Say I believe you. Are you gonna see him again?”

Sam shook his head in disbelief and rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You’re gonna ask me that for a _second_ time in as many days? Dude! I would see him every day. All day. For the rest of my life. There’s just _something_ about him.” Sam sighed. “It feels _so_ right. Like he’s my long lost… brother- but with benefits.”

Sam laughed and turned back to his station. “It’s just-” The screen flickered off and on. Sam turned toward Ian to shrug his shoulders at Technology when he noticed that Ian’s computer and everyone else’s in their row was flickering too.

“Ian?” Sam questioned. Ian turned toward Sam almost as if he was possessed. His normally loose posture was rigid and forced. His eyes were rolling in the back of his head exposing just the whites. There was a trickle of what looked like crude oil leaking from his right ear. “Ian?” Sam asked again. Ian still didn’t respond.

Sam shivered, his breath visible in an otherwise sweltering room. He sat in his swivel chair, unable to move as Ian got up and walked past his desk. He tried to reach out an arm to grab the other man, but the gesture was futile. His arms wouldn’t leave his side. Sam’s eyes wandered around the room. No one else noticed that anything was amiss on the floor. His headset began beeping in his ear. Sam was helpless to answer. His headset beeped twice more and then his cell began buzzing in his pocket. Few people called him at work, so it _had_ to be Dean. He wondered if Dean was calling because of the strange flickering. Sam turned his head as a piercing scream echoed throughout the floor. Sam was finally able to leave his chair and he bolted as fast as possible to the sound of the disturbance. His phone continued to buzz in his pocket. Sam pulled out his iPhone and slid his finger across the screen to accept the call.

“Dean! Whad’ya need? I’m kinda in the middle of a situation here.” He juked a co-worker coming around the corner from the coffee machine. He whipped around the same corner and ran toward Ian.

_Sam… Things are weird in here. My computer is flashing and it’s cold. I have thought that I shouldn’t be here- I should be wherever you are._

“Dean. Stay put. Crawl under your desk. I know you don’t like to feel vulnerable.” Sam stopped as he rounded the corner. He wasn’t exactly sure where that thought had come from. “But, I can’t be there right this second. I have a-”

The sound of a heavy object smacking the window followed by the shattering of plate glass made Sam almost drop his phone. Ian had grabbed the closest chair and _thrown_ it at the window. Sam bolted toward his friend, _Ian_ on his lips as he vaguely heard Dean trying to ascertain the situation through the phone.

“Ian! Man! Don’t do it!” Sam yelled at his friend as he got closer to where Ian had stepped over the shattered glass out onto the ledge on the tenth floor. The ledge was barely wide enough to stand on.

Sam shoved his still on phone into the back pocket of his khakis and reached out to the dark-haired man. “Don’t do it, Ian.” Sam whispered. He reached out a hand toward Ian and closed his hand around air as Ian jumped to his death, never even turning around at his friend's insistence. Sam didn’t even realise he was clutching the edges of the window, the glass biting into the meaty flesh of his hand. A hand landed on his shoulder. The sensation of being pulled away shocked him back into the now. 

“Wesson… Back away from the window.” Sam turned around to see his boss- Wilson’s concerned face. “You’re bleeding, Sam.”

Sam looked down at his hands. Blood welled up from the multitude of tiny cuts on his palms He watched- fascinated, as the crimson blood dripped onto the pale grey carpet. He heard a shout, low and just loud enough for him to realise that Dean was still on the phone. He sounded scared and worried about Sam.

“Oh!” Sam fumbled and smeared blood on his back pocket and the tail of his yellow work shirt as he dug his phone out of his pocket. He raised the phone to his ear.

_Sam! Sam! What’s going on? Talk to me, man! I can’t.. I just-_

“Dean.” Sam took a deep breath. “Calm down. I’m fine.”

_It doesn’t sound like you’re fine. Blood, dude? I heard blood._

“Dean. I cut my hands trying to get to Ian-”

_Ian? Are you okay? You should come up here, or I should go down there. Do you need an ambulance? Let me talk to Wilson. He’ll make sure that the Paramedics-_

“Dean.” Sam rolled his eyes and shifted his phone. The blood was coating everything- his phone, his face, his hair… The collar of his shirt was red and the overwhelming smell of copper permeated his senses. “It’s okay. I will get checked out. The Ambulance is just pulling up. I’ll walk down there and get stitched and bandaged. Promise.”

_Okay. Just- Are you okay?_

“Dean. I’m fine.” Sam sighed and ran a bloody hand through his hair before he realised he shouldn’t. “I’ll explain everything later. Is everything okay with you?”

_The computer is back to normal and it is a comfortable temperature in here again. I’m no longer under my desk, but my suit is wrinkled. This is a forty-five hundred dollar suit, Sam!_

Sam covered the phone with his other hand and mouthed _Well… someone is a prima donna_ at Wilson. “Dean. It’s okay. You can have someone take your suit to the cleaners today. It’s probably fine if we leave for today. I’ll be up after the I see the Medics, okay?” Sam rolled his eyes He sure was overusing the word ‘okay’. He watched Wilson nod and gesture to the Medic that was walking their direction.

“The Medic is here, Dean. I’ll go with him outside and get patched up.” Sam smiled.

 _I can sew you up, Sammy._ Dean stated. Sam shook his head in shock. _Um… I don’t know where that came from._

“Yeah… Well, let’s let the _Professionals_ patch me up, okay?” Sam held up a finger at the Paramedic nearby. “I’ll be up when I’m done, yeah?”

_Just… Be careful, Sammy. I don’t want whatever happened to happen to you too._

Sam sighed. “Don’t worry, Dean. I promise that it’ll be fine. So stop. I hardly hurt myself.”

_Okay. See you soon._

“Bye.” Sam hung up the phone before Dean could continue and rolled his eyes. He looked toward the Medic and Wilson and shrugged his shoulders in a _what can you do about it_ gesture.

“Husband? Boyfriend?” The Medic questioned as he grabbed Sam’s hands to assess the abrasions. 

“No.” Sam chuckled. “Well… He’s- He’s my _Dean_.”

“If that’s not _love_...” The Medic let go of Sam’s hands. Sam stopped still. Did he love Dean? Did Dean love him? He had only known him for two days, but _man alive_ , it felt like a lifetime. Like Dean had always been there- next to Sam, Dean driving… Dean watching tv in some shitty hole in the wall motel next to him… It concerned him. He _knew_ he may have seen Dean around the last few months, but nothing like the memories he had. He shook himself from his thoughts and followed the Medic toward the elevator.

**xxx**

Sam had his left hand resting on a mobile table. He hadn’t been as lucky with this hand as the right. That one only needed cleaning and wrapping. The left palm needed seventeen stitches. The Medic- Mark, was finishing wrapping up his hand when it happened.

Sam watched as Dean tore around the corner, his suit jacket flapping behind him like Batman’s wings. “Where is he?” Dean yelled as if Sam was dying. Wilson caught Dean- barely as he was on his way by and slowed him down. Sam couldn’t make out what Wilson was telling him, but it seemed to calm Dean down. Dean nodded once to Wilson and Sam saw that he was buttoning up the top two buttons of his suit jacket and smoothing down the fabric. He smiled as Dean waggled his fingers in Sam’s direction.

“Sam.” Dean stepped directly into Sam’s personal space. “What’s- Are you- How-” Dean pulled lightly on the ends of his hair. Sam liked Dean’s hair. He wore it like a 1940’s Male pin-up model. Parted- severely, and slicked back with pomade, it made him look like a sexy gangster. The kind of man _anyone_ would be lucky to have sex with. Sam bristled at the thought of Dean having sex with anyone but him. Even if they hadn’t _seen_ each other’s cocks yet, Sam knew the approximate size and lay of Dean’s member. 

Sam turned slightly to address the Medic. “Mark- My… _Dean_.”

Mark nodded to the older man. “I’d shake, but your boyfriend here figured he hadn’t had enough excitement what with the _jumper_ and all, so he decided to have stitches across his hand. Seventeen in all.”

Dean nodded to Mark. “Well, _Mark_... When you’re done do you think you can write Sammy-boy here a Hall Pass to go home for the rest of the day?”

“Sure. No problem. He _may_ be off for a few days. You’ll be there to take care of him?” Mark tied off the last stitch and set aside the suture kit. He grabbed the gauze and delicately wrapped Sam’s hand. “Now, you’ll need to make a Doctor’s appointment to remove the stitches in about a week.”

Sam watched as Mark dug in his bag. He pulled out a yellow pill bottle and shook it twice. “Here’s about a week's worth of Vicodin. Now, with your build and weight, I would say pop two every four hours for at least a few days. Have your boyfriend keep a close eye on you. Once the Novocaine wears off, those hands are gonna hurt.”

Dean took the bottle from Mark, opened it and shook two pills into his hand. He motioned for Sam to open his mouth and Dean popped the little white pills inside. He brought a bottle of water to his lips and Sam drank down the cool liquid. He watched as Dean capped everything and slipped the pill bottle in his suit coat pocket. “Okay, Gigantor. Let’s get this show on the road. I’ll grab your bike tomorrow or whenever, okay?”

Sam leaned forward and rested his head on Dean’s shoulder. All of a sudden the weight of the day had caught up to him. He was beat. Dean kissed him on the forehead and smoothed his clumped, bloody hair from the side of his face. “It was just his hands?” Sam assumed he was talking to Mark.

“Yeah… The left one bled a lot. It was pretty deep. The more he flexed and moved his hand, the more it bled. His phone is covered in it. The shirt is a loss, but rubbing alcohol should get the blood off his phone, or-”

“Or, I could just get him a new iPhone. He deserves it. Could you bag that for me? I don’t want to get blood on my suit. My tailor would _kill_ me.”

Mark laughed and Sam heard the rustle of baggies and the plastic zip noise of one closing. Dean pulled him away from his shoulder and Sam smiled his dopiest grin.

“Okay, Samantha. Let’s get you home and get you to bed.” Sam nodded as Dean manhandled him off the back of the ambulance. He briefly wondered if he was going home or to Dean’s. He really hoped Dean’s.

**_Heard it in a Love Song_ **

Dean nodded to Marcus, the Doorman as he manhandled Sam into the building. He hadn’t realised that Ian had jumped until Mark said something. Dean’s office was a few floors above IT, so Ian’s body hadn’t fallen past them. Dean was curious though as to what _exactly_ was going on though. Sam had mumbled about possession and Demons. Dean didn’t know anything about those things, but there was one thing he knew well- research.

“Sam… Maybe you should lay down on the couch. This is a lot to take in. I get that Ian was your friend.” Dean helped Sam onto the couch. He watched as his- Friend? Lover? relaxed into the plush cream surface. Dean shuddered internally at what it would cost to get the blood out of the fabric later, but then thought it was time for a new couch anyway.

“Dean.” Sam whispered. 

Dean leaned down into Sam’s personal space, the younger man’s hot, sweet breath tickling his nose. “Yeah, Sam?” He breathed lightly.

“Don’t leave me.” Sam reached out for Dean. He curled his fingers in Dean’s silk tie and pulled. Dean smiled at the sharp tug around his neck. He knew he shouldn’t get turned on at a time like this; but it was hard not to. There was a hot, _willing_ body underneath his hands.

“Never.” Dean promised. And he meant it too. There was something in Sam’s face that made Dean want to protect him. He felt like he had known Sam almost his entire life. Almost as if Sam had been given to him to protect. He would make sure to protect Sam at all costs. “Sammy…”

Dean leaned down and closed the gap between him and the younger man. He placed chaste kisses on Sam’s lips over and over as Sam yanked Dean completely on top of him.

“Dean… Make me-” Sam gasped as Dean ran his hands up under Sam’s bloody polo. “-make me forget.”

Dean snaked his tongue out and ran it over Sam’s lips, hoping to gain entrance. Sam’s mouth parted in a gasp and allowed Dean access. Dean kissed with fervour. He wanted Sam to know how much he cared. That he loved him- that it was okay. Dean would _never_ leave.

Sam broke the kiss and pushed him to sit. Dean whimpered at the aggressiveness of the younger man. He whipped Sam’s polo over his head, ever mindful of the bandages on his hands and chuckled at Sam’s hair. It was sticking up in about forty different directions.

“Keep that up…” Sam groused as he loosened Dean’s tie. “And you’ll be getting a cold shower instead.

“You haven’t seen my shower…” Dean tsked Sam and began unbuttoning his own shirt. He slipped the necktie over the collar of his shirt, but didn’t remove it. Dean hoped that Sam would want to use the necktie in play. Of course, he didn’t want to push Sam too far. He didn’t know how the other man would take some of his rather _unusual_ sexual requests. He had no idea where Emerson had taken Sam. It sounded as if Sam wasn’t shown the safe side of play with his former lover. Dean wanted to ensure that he enjoyed the things that Dean wanted him to do.

He pushed off his shoes, not caring if the hand-stretched leather scuffed. There were more important things to attend to. Dean watched on through hooded eyes as Sam stripped as quickly as his bandaged hands would allow him. He laid back on the couch, stark naked, his cock weeping against a downy patch of hair on his stomach. Dean marvelled at how relaxed and natural Sam appeared. There wasn’t a trace of shyness in the boy. He waggled his eyebrows at Sam as he stood to remove his pants and boxer briefs. Dean hissed as his rock hard cock smacked against his belly, a sticky spot left in it’s wake.

Dean lowered himself on top of Sam and wiggled his hips, briefly rubbing their erections together. He pushed harder, forcing Sam to move the hand resting on his belly and frame Dean’s hips with his huge wrapped paws. Dean nipped and licked at Sam’s scruff. The younger man didn’t have much of a five o’clock shadow, but it was enough to cause a _delicious_ burn on Dean’s lips. He sucked a bruise- deep purple and black onto the skin over Sam’s collarbone and sighed at the tang of salt on his flesh. He knew his lover would be feeling it in the morning- or not as Dean knew he would be getting at least one Vicodin before bed. 

“Sammy.” Dean whispered. “Maybe we should take this to my room. It’ll be more comfortable.”

Sam whined and gripped Dean’s hips tighter. Or would have if his hands weren’t both wrapped up like a mummy’s. Sam hissed in obvious discomfort and Dean jumped. “Shit. Shit. _Fuck_ , Sammy….”

Dean pursed his lips and scrunched his eyebrows. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Shit!”

“Dean!” Sam growled. “Calm the _fuck_ down. I’m fine. I just pressed too hard on my stitches.”

Sam ran his unbandaged fingers through Dean’s hair attempting to soothe him. He arched up into Dean’s space and whimpered. “I think we should take this to your room. _Now_.”

Dean nodded and pushed himself from the couch. He pulled Sam to standing by his forearms and smacked his firm ass as he showed the brunet to his rooms.

**xxx**

Sam pushed Dean on the bed and climbed on top of the older man. He leered openly at the freckle covered body underneath him. He was nervous, but tried not to let Dean see. It had been years since he had been intimate with another person. Sam had read enough clues from Dean to know that he wanted, no _needed_ to bottom. At least this time. Sam had never topped, but had opened himself up enough to understand the mechanics of making Dean comfortable. He pushed off the bed with his knuckles and sat on the edge of the California King. Sam smirked and raised an eyebrow at Dean.

“Quit teasing, Sam. Drawer of the night stand.” He picked a blue striped pillow off the bed and chucked it toward Sam’s head, missing by about a foot. The pillow hit the floor by the closet door. Sam laughed and shook his head. He reached forward to pull the drawer open. His fingers rooted around in the drawer blindly, until he felt a thick plastic bottle and figured that was Dean’s lube. The pulled the tube from the drawer with an _ah-ha_. Dean laughed, his rich tone echoing throughout the room. Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean as he followed the other man’s eyes to the tube he was holding gingerly in his fingertips. Except, it wasn’t a tube of lube like Sam had thought. It was a pink dildo. Sam shook the lifelike dildo at his partner and cleared his throat.

“Good Sir.” Sam stated in his most _haughty_ of voices. “If you had just wanted to be _speared_ , you should have told me. I am positive that _my_ cock will feel a mill-ion times better that this old silicone thing. But… If this is what you require…”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Dean declared with a sarcastic tone. “Please don’t tell me you would deny me that _Monster Cock_ you have between your legs!”

Sam dropped the dildo on the floor and brandished the lube instead. “Prepare yourself well, young _bar wench_ , for tonight you ride a valiant steed.”

Dean rolled his eyes and Sam could tell he was trying his hardest not to explode in laughter. He knew it went far to defuse the nervousness that had been in the air. Dean pulled Sam back onto the bed by his neck. Sam licked and nipped at the sensitive flesh behind his lover’s ear. “All kidding aside, _De,_... I wanna fuck you so hard you’ll be feeling it for _days_.”

Dean whimpered and pushed Sam over to straddle him on the soft down comforter. He snatched the tube from Sam’s wrapped fist gently and wiggled his ass on Sam’s weeping cock. He sighed and pulled Dean hips forward. “Get up here before I blow up. I can’t take you grinding on me like that.”

Dean chuckled and popped the top of the lube. He squeezed a thin line on his first three fingers of his left hand and stared into Sam’s eyes as he reached behind himself.

Sam could barely control the feelings coursing through his body. He didn’t know if he could last long enough to actually _have_ sex with Dean. Sam watched on as Dean writhed and moaned while he opened himself up, never once taking his eyes off Sam.

“Sam…” Dean moaned. “Sammy….”

Sam smiled as Dean leaned over and grabbed the discarded tube from the bed and chucked it at him. “Ass.” Sam laughed. He popped the lid and squeezed a large amount of the cool lube on his cock. Sam winced and worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he tried to smear the freezing silicone-based gel all over his erection with just his fingertips. He deflated a bit before the gel warmed and he came back to full hardness. He watched Dean’s eyes as he removed his fingers and pulled a grimace face at the loss. Sam knew what it was like to be impossibly full and then lose that sensation. It wasn’t pleasant. 

Dean pushed Sam flat onto the bed with both hands. He leaned forward and Sam smiled as Dean’s hot breath ghosted over his neck and ear. “You just lay back and enjoy the ride, baby boy.” Dean ran his tongue over the shell of Sam’s ear, trailing down his neck and licking the bruise he had left on Sam’s collarbone. Sam did his best to watch as Dean took over the reigns.

He batted Sam’s hand away from his own cock and grabbed it firmly at the base, lining himself up. Sam closed his eyes at the sensation of his cockhead catching on Dean’s sensitive rim. He steeled himself for the sensation of tight heat. Sma gasped and his eyes flew open as Dean dropped himself on Sam’s lap, fully seating in one swift movement. Sam studied Dean’s face for any sign of discomfort and let out a shaky breath when he saw none. He wasn’t little by any means. Though… Dean _did_ have a massive dildo in his drawer…

Sam breathed through the sensation encasing his erection. He didn’t want Dean to move for fear he would come too soon. Dean must have noticed this as he sat still on Sam’s lap. When Sam was ready, he moved his wrapped hands up to frame Dean’s hips and Dean stayed true to his word of riding Sam for all he was worth. He thrust up every time Dean slammed his ass down, the sensation flaring every nerve ending in his body. Dean was so _tight_ and _hot_ around him. Sam had never topped anyone before. He hadn’t experimented with girls, and with Emerson- well, he was _always_ a bottom. A power bottom, but a bottom nonetheless. With Dean… the dynamic was totally different. Dean was aggressive in every aspect of his life. Sam wanted to laugh- and stopped himself at the image of a naked Dean relaxing in the Dictionary under the definition of _Dominate Power Bottom_. Sam felt he could definitely get used to this dynamic. He moaned as Dean rolled his hips while Sam was buried deep in his ass. Dean was rhythmically clenching his muscles in waves around his cock. “Sam…. Oh, Sammy… It burns _so_ good.”

Sam couldn’t take it anymore. He sat up on the bed and half picked Dean up and slamming into him repeatedly. He ignored the sharp pain in his palms as he speared the older man’s prostate repeatedly. Dean screamed as he wrapped his arms around Sam’s neck. Sam moved his legs up and framed Dean’s body with his knees as he flipped the blond onto his back. He smirked at the surprised look on Dean’s face that morphed to pure pleasure as Sam began to pound into Dean in earnest, hitting his prostate on every thrust. He felt the low pull of orgasm in his abdomen and slowed down to make it last longer. Dean was grunting and moaning as Sam continued to take charge. He thrust twice before Dean tightened in a vise around his cock, deep in the throws of his own orgasm; his cock untouched. Sam’s orgasm punched through him as he painted the inside’s of Dean’s passage with his come. Sam rolled off Dean, wincing as he let his sensitive member slide from Dean’s warm body. Sam pulled the older man completely on top of himself, panting as he came down from his high.

“That was…” Dean breathed. 

“Amazing? Magical? Mystical? The best you’ve ever had?” Sam laughed as he kissed Dean.

“Stop.” Dean chided in a joking manner. “You know you love me.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean and cocked his head. How could he love Dean? He couldn’t figure it out, but deep down inside he _knew_ with everything that he was; that he was _truly and deeply_ in love with him. Though, if Sam really thought about it- it was like all of this was just a dream. That he had known Dean his _whole_ life- kept coming back to him. Sam really didn’t want to wake up if this was just a dream. Because, what if in _real life_ him and Dean weren’t together- what if-

“Dude, you are seriously gonna wrinkle, you keep that up.” Dean laughed as he repeatedly kissed Sam’s forehead. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. We just had epic sex- How do you think that makes me feel if you look like you’re gonna kill someone.”

“Yeah.” Sam smiled. “It was nothing.”

Dean rolled gracefully over Sam and headed toward the bathroom. “Let me get a wet cloth and we can sleep, ‘kay?”

Sam nodded. He was asleep before Dean came back.

**_Heard it in a Love Song_ **

Sam rolled over and stretched, his arms wide. He patted the bed next to him, attempting to figure out just _why_ there was bed next to him. He couldn’t fit a king in his one bedroom, so even though it was cramped, he had to settle for a queen. There was more than enough room for him to stretch out. Then, it dawned on him. He was at Dean’s. With his California King. Sam slowly opened his eyes. He smiled at the face staring back at him.

“Rise and shine, Samantha.” Dean placed a tray of breakfast items over Sam’s lap.

“It’s Sam…” Sam grumbled.

“Whatever, Princess.” Dean flopped down on the other side of the bed. Sam marvelled that the mattress didn’t move. Dean looked at Sam. “Memory foam! It remembers you!”

“Okay…” Sam glanced at the tray. There were a lot of his favourite foods there; crepes with cream and strawberries, a bowl of honeydew melon, what looked like fresh squeezed orange juice and a cup of coffee. Sam’s mouth watered as he tried to figure out what to eat first. “Did you- Never mind…”

“Did I cook? Naw. Carmen did. But I know how.” Dean smiled and laid back on his pillow, fingers laced behind his head. “Eat up. No work today. Zach called off the entire building. Something about needing to get the window replaced and the concrete scrubbed.”

Sam smiled around a bite of warm crepe. He knew he should mourn for his friend, but somehow he seemed… detached. Like he dealt with death all the time, even though the only person close to him that had died was his grandpa Campbell. And that was when he was seven, so he didn’t remember it too much. “My compliments to Carmen. So, what’s the plan for today, then?”

Dean sighed. “Research, I guess. I did a bit already. You said that there was some black goo coming from Ian’s ear?” Sam nodded around his food. “Preliminary findings say it was ghost possession. I’ve seen Ghostbusters. But real life? Not in the movies? It’s crazy. But, for some reason, I’ve got a library full of occult books and a couple of computers. I’m sure that between the two of us, we can find something.”

Sam nodded and dug into his breakfast in earnest. He methodically made his way through each dish. The silence between the two men was comfortable, like they had spent long periods with each other in silence before, which of course didn’t make sense as this was the first time they had spent time outside of work. That, and technically they have only known each other for a few days. Sam drank the last of his coffee and sat the tray next to the side of the bed. He spied Dean relaxing, eyes closed, in his peripheral vision and decided to go in for the kill. He pounced on the slightly smaller man and peppered his face and neck with tiny kisses. Sam felt the low pull of heat in his groin as the friction between their bodies made him hard.

“Dean…” Sam moaned as he rutted against the older man.

“Sam.” Dean panted. “We need to- Fuck it. Kiss me.”

Sam smiled and slotted his mouth against Dean’s. His tongue mapped the inside of his lover’s mouth and moaned at the taste of coffee and blueberries. Sam pulled away slightly. “I guess that answers my question.”

“Yes, Sammy. I ate breakfast. Carmen makes the _best_ oatmeal.” Dean reached up and planted a chaste kiss on Sam’s lips. “Now, let's get to work before we spend all day in bed.”

Sam chuckled and climbed off the _gorgeous_ blond man underneath.

**xxx**

Four hours later, the boys had burned through seven books and knew more about ghosts and possession than anyone else. The only problem was how to deal with the _obviously_ angry spirit of PT Sandover. They knew _why_ he was doing what he was doing… The economy in 2009 was in the shitter, it may not have been quite as bad as 1929, but it seemed as if Sandover was weeding out the employees that were non-productive. Sam found out that there had been ten other ‘suicides’ in the past year that the company had been able to hush over in the media. Dean informed him that every single one of those people had been taken off the payroll as if they ‘quit’, not that they were even deceased. Dean figured that even though he was a Board Member, they obviously were glossed over and not brought up to the controlling body. Sandover had over 250 people working in that office alone, and ten lazy people were probably not missed. Most people more than likely assumed that they had either been fired or quit.

Dean was searching for ways to dispose of human remains and came across a web series on YouTube from a couple of guys that called themselves the Ghostfacers. Dean called Sam over to the desk and booted up the first video. They both watched the two young men on the video explain about salt and iron, how to burn the remains, and- as in their case where the deceased was cremated, find the genetic material to rid the building of the malevolent spirit. The one thing that confused them was all this talk about the _Winchester Brothers_ and how much they didn’t like them.

“Well… we have iron. We can stop at the grocer and pick up some salt. I wouldn’t know the first thing about a gun though. Where do you even _buy_ a gun?” Dean wondered.

“My guess is the gun store. But I think there is a waiting period.” Sam turned to Dean. “Does this feel- I don’t know, kinda deja vu-y to you? Cause it feels like we’ve done this before. Like planning and taking out ghosts is second nature.”

Dean pushed out his bottom lip in exaggeration and nodded. “You’re right. I’ve noticed that the last few days. I have felt off of a sort. But maybe it’s because of this ghost. Maybe it is changing the environment in the office.”

“That could be. To me though, it feels different. I-” Sam stopped. He tipped his head and narrowed his eyes at Dean before shaking his head.

“What? You _what_ , Sam?” Dean became frantic at Sam’s face.

“Dude. Calm down. I just- It’s nothing. I thought I remembered something but it couldn’t possibly be true, so-nevermind.” Sam shook his head again and began re-shelving books. “I’m gonna finish up in here. Then maybe we should get dressed to go?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dean smiled as he stood from his desk chair. “I’m gonna go do that. You can borrow some jogging pants and a tee, yeah?”

Sam nodded absently. “That should work.”

Dean stretched, twisting to work the kinks out. He padded to the walk in closet and stripped to his boxer briefs. Dean ran a hand down his naked chest. He felt odd staring at all of that naked, freckled skin. Almost as if he was missing something. He turned to the side and looked at his back and ass in the floor to ceiling mirror. It didn’t look any different. Dean thought maybe he should get a tattoo. He had never been one to think about body art before, but it sounded like a good idea the more he mulled it over.

Dean walked over to his dresser and pulled a pair of jeans from the back that he rarely wore. They were holdouts from college and they were well worn. There were fade marks on the ass and thighs, one knee was on the verge of a blowout, and the bottom hem was frayed as Dean bought them too long on purpose. He slid the soft denim up his legs and smiled. They were like second skin. He fastened the button and pulled the zip. Dean moved over to the other dresser and pulled out a pair of jogging pants, two pairs of socks, a tee shirt from Columbia that was _way_ too big for Dean- having belonged to his ex Chris, and a faded tee shirt he acquired in High School. The name- Led Zeppelin, was worn and cracked when he bought the shirt in 1994, and even now it called to him like it had then. He had acquired it in a little second hand clothing store in Salisbury, Connecticut near his Boarding School one weekend. He pulled the shirt over his head and sighed. It felt like coming home. Dean smiled slightly at his reflection and felt the overwhelming need to bolt. To leave Sam and get in his car and just drive. He liked Sam- a lot… But, he felt that he shouldn’t be in a relationship. Not just with Sam- with anyone. As if he wasn’t the kind of guy who stuck around and had relationships. He all of a sudden was _itching,_ to get out of there. Hopefully, Sam would understand. He figured now was as good of time as any to let the younger man know.

“Hey, Sam?” Dean called as he walked down the hallway. He heard low talking in the kitchen and wondered if Sam was on the phone. Dean paused in the doorway at the clear-toned laugh Sam emitted. Dean wondered exactly _who_ could make him laugh like that. Obviously, it wasn’t him. That helped solidify his decision that even though last night was great, it just couldn’t happen. They couldn’t _be_ together. 

Dean gathered his courage and walked into the kitchen, the clothes he was lending Sam tight in his hand. The sight in front of him gave him pause. Sam was half perched on a bar stool, bowl in one hand- spoon in the other. Carmen was _attempting_ to help Sam bake. Dean couldn’t for the life of him remember _why_ he would want Sam gone. Carmen was never a patient person and here she was _step by step_ explaining to Sam how to mix cookies. She didn’t care that Sam was in a pair of basketball shorts and bare feet. Carmen yelled at Dean when he came into the kitchen in full pajamas and stocking feet if she was there.

Dean smiled and walked up behind Sam. He set the spare clothes on an open stool and wrapped his arms around the taller man. He placed open-mouth kisses on Sam’s shoulders and moved up to his tip toes to whisper. “Hey sexy. What gives you special privilege to  
look so _smokin’ hot_ in my kitchen?” Dean licked the shell of Sam’s ear and dropped back on his flat feet. He turned to Carmen. “Looks good. Can’t believe you’re giving him lessons.”

Carmen waved her spoon at Dean and smiled. “Begone, Demon! This is _my_ kitchen when I am here. Not yours!” Carmen laughed and set her spoon down to instruct Sam further. Dean pulled away from his lover and crossed his arms to pout.

“That look isn’t very becoming of you. No matter _how_ attractive you are.” Sam leaned over and kissed Dean in the middle of his forehead. “Let me finish this cookie dough so that when we get back, we can have cookies!”

Dean couldn’t hold his pout anymore at Sam’s youthful exuberance. He uncrossed his arms, shook his head and stomped from the room, the sounds of joint laughter escorting him.

**xxx**

Sam pushed the button in the elevator to take them to the 16th Floor. In their research, they had remembered that PT Sandover’s gloves were on display in the Museum on the top floor. Sam said that he vaguely remembered going up there on a tour when he was first hired. 

The elevator dinged and both men stepped out into the vestibule. Dean set the duffel bag on the floor by the fire extinguisher and pulled out the two iron rods. Dean had never been happier that he sprung for the Penthouse with multiple fireplaces. They stood back to back and glanced around the room. Neither saw any ghosts or possessed Security Guards. The temperature in the room plummeted and Dean tightened his grip on the fireplace poker as his breath began showing in the air.

Dean felt an invisible push and was slammed up against a wall. He hit his head- hard on the control panel for the elevator. Dean slumped to the ground, dazed and realised he needed to look out for the count. They had a plan and the ghost was falling right for their trap.

**xxx**

Sam swung at the ghost and watched it dissipate at the touch of the iron swinging through it. He ran to the glass case holding the gloves and shattered it with the butt of his iron poker. He pulled the bottle of lighter fluid out of his pocket and grabbed the gloved from the display, throwing them to the ground and dousing the leather with the flammable liquid. The ghost came at Sam again, this time he threw a bit of the salt at the spirit. He couldn’t remember _why_ ghosts were repelled, just that they were. Sam did remember that if he put a circle around himself and the gloves, he could keep the ghost out. He spun around and let the grains of salt accumulate in a smooth circle. The ghost tried to come at Sam again and couldn’t get through! Sam sprinkled the salt on the gloves and was reaching for a lighter when Dean jumped from his spot against the wall. 

“Oy.” He yelled and swung the iron around. The ghost appeared right in front of Dean and Sam noticed it was attacking. “Any time now, Sammy.” Dean choked out.

Sam fumbled with the Zippo, the only lighter Dean had in his house; and finally got it lit. He stepped back from the circle and dropped the lighter on the leather. As the gloves caught, the ghost appeared to catch on fire as well. Sam heard Dean clear his throat and a croaky _Sammy_ came from the hallway. He ran to Dean and snatched the older man up, checking him over for injuries. He ran his fingers gently over the back of Dean’s head, trying hard to keep the stitches on his palm from snagging. Sam pursed his lips as Dean winced from the tender spot where he smacked the wall. He ducked his head and slotted his mouth against his lover’s- hard. He poured all of his worry, all of his passion into that one kiss, nipping and sucking at the older man’s pink lips. 

Sam dropped his hands to Dean’s hips and pulled him closer. He hissed as Dean’s denim covered erection brushed his. Sam broke the kiss and started to shove Dean to his knees. Dean took the hint and dropped gracefully to the floor, taking Sam’s jogging pants and boxers with. 

**xxx**

Dean lifted his eyes towards Sam’s face and smiled. He took in the flushed skin, the slightly open mouth… Sam was gagging for it. Dean dropped his gaze to Sam’s proud cock. It stood straight up at attention, leaning slightly to the left. The head was bright purple and weepy. Dean’s mouth watered at the bead of pre-come that dripped into Sam’s trimmed bush. The tight curls gently wrapped around the thick, veiny base of Sam’s _gigantic_ member. Dean was happy that Sam was preportioned. Last night, he hadn’t got to get a good look at his magnificent cock.

Dean framed Sam’s groin with his hands and settled himself into a comfortable position on his knees with his feet tucked under his ass. He leaned forward and licked a sloppy stripe up Sam’s cock from root to tip, tracing the vein. Dean smirked as Sam whimpered and pulled his cock into his mouth, tonguing the slit to get as much of Sam’s essence as possible. Dean grasped Sam by the root and worked his mouth over as much of the younger man’s cock as possible. He groaned as Sam’s hands wrapped around his head and pushed. Dean opened his mouth as wide as it would go and pulled a deep breath in through his nose. He moaned as Sam pushed and pulled him, thrusting with abandon into Dean’s hot, wet mouth. Dean dropped his hand and allowed Sam to fully control the thrust. He flicked his tongue over every inch of skin he could reach, saliva and pre-come dripping from his chin. Dean tried his hardest to ignore his own raging hard-on as Sam shoved his cock deep into Dean’s throat hitting the back. He swallowed around Sam’s head as it choked off his windpipe. Dean struggled to breathe as his oxygen was cut off. Sam pulled back slightly and Dean took a breath before humming around Sam. His hands dropped from Dean’s hair to his throat. Sam squeezed gently as Dean gagged further on his cock.

“So pretty for me…” Sam whispered over Dean’s struggled whimpers. “I can _feel_ my cock in your throat.”

Dean flicked his tongue over and over at Sam’s silky skin as he tried to stay calm. Spit poured from his mouth and soaked the front of his jeans, but Dean didn’t care. Sam was giving him everything that he ever wanted.

“You want to talk but can’t, can you? It’s _so_ hot, Dean. Me choking you. Like your throat was _made_ for my dick. You want it there all the time, don’t you?” Sam tightened his fingers around Dean’s windpipe and he felt his vision blacken on the edges. “If it gets to be too much, you can tap out… okay? Snap your fingers.”

Dean snapped his fingers, alternating between both hands. “Stop.” Dean stopped and rested both hands on his thighs. Sam momentarily relaxed his hands and pulled back allowing Dean to rush oxygen to his brain. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Sam began thrusting harder into Dean’s wet mouth, treating it like a used up fuck-hole. “Good boy. Now suck.”

Dean tightened his mouth and sucked in. He did his best to apply pressure on Sam’s cock. His teeth lightly grazed the tip as Sam pulled almost all the way out. “Oh my God, Dean. I’m gonna-” Sam thrust deep into Dean’s mouth, his cock spasming. Dean did his best to swallow all the come Sam fed him. He got most of it, the remainder dribbling out of the corners of his mouth and joined the spit on his jeans. Sam pulled his softening cock out slowly and unwound his hands from Dean’s throat. He knew Sam would leave bruises. Dean would wear them with pride.

Sam pulled Dean up by the armpits and grabbed the hem of his shirt to wipe the excess come off Dean’s face. Sam dropped Dean shirt and grabbed his face, mashing their mouths together. Dean pushed the leftover come into Sam’s mouth and moaned as Sam sucked on his tongue. Dean pulled away abruptly. “Shit!”

Sam looked around. Dean could tell the moment Sam realised he was standing in the middle of a monitored hallway, CCTV recording in the background. That he just defaced a hundred year old pair of gloves- _and_ to top it all off, he was pantsless. His cock hanging out in the wind. Sam started laughing. “Oh my God!”

Dean began to laugh too. He crouched down to yank up Sam’s pants for him. “Sammy…” Dean croaked, his voice whisky and nails rough. “We should get out of here and go back to mine.”

Sam nodded. “We should Hunt. We make a good team.”

“We do.” Dean agreed as he gathered up the tools. “We need to talk about things first.”

Sam agreed. “We can hash out the details tonight. It just _feels_ right, you know?”

Dean shouldered his duffel and pressed the button for the Lobby. “It does. It’s almost as if _this_ is what we were meant to do.”

**_Heard it in a Love Song_ **

Dean gathered his belongings and a few files, he placed it all in his messenger bag. He was looking forward to a quiet night at home with Sam, curled up in front of the fire. He knew Sam wouldn’t be happy that be brought work home with him, but he couldn’t in good conscious leave any accounts a mess. He was excited to go on a _real_ Hunt with Sam. Not that the ghost they took down at Sandover was a fake Hunt, but this would be him and Sam… on the road. After all, it had been two weeks since they took down Sandover’s ghost. Dean couldn’t wait to get moving. He looked forward to nights tangled in the sheets, the two of them sweaty and sated.

Dean smiled at the thought of Sam’s heavy cock in his mouth. It was one of his favourite body parts of Sam’s. He also loved his overly large hands. The way they took him apart and put him back together was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Dean moved toward the door and flipped the switch. He stepping into the hallway and ran into the CEO, Zach Adler.

“Mr Smith… Dean. What a pleasure.” Zach smiled wide. His face always reminded Dean of a shark. “I was just coming to see you.”

Dean smiled and led the way back into his office. He flipped the light switch back on and gestured to the chair across from his desk. He had never returned it after that first day Sam showed up to work on his computer.

Dean settled down into his own chair and placed his bag on the flood by the side of his desk. He let out a breath and folded his hands on the top of his mahogany desk. It felt like hours as the silence stretched uncomfortably, even if it had only been seconds. “What can I help you with, Mr Adler?” Dean smiled his best ass-kissing smile.

“Well… How are you liking Sandover, Dean?” Zach smiled lecherously.

“Things have gone well over the last five years, I will admit.”

“I see that you have become close to the new IT Supervisor, Samuel Wesson?”

Dean sat up straight and started to feel nervous. He felt the sweat bead up on the small of his back. His palms became red and itchy and his clothes too small. Dean fidgeted in his seat at Zach’s knowing stare.

“I can explain- Besides, it’s not against-” Dean stammered. Zach put up his hand, halting Dean’s thought process. 

“Now, I’m not here to punish you.” Zach nodded his head. “I’m not surprised, though. We gave you your own lives. Made them very real, too. The best work I’ve ever done, It was difficult, you understand… Creating whole lives for the two of you. Giving you memories, allowing outside conversation… A _crowning achievement_.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean raised an eyebrow and leaned forward in his chair.

“You. Sam. This.” Zach gestured around the room. “A construct. The job was real, everything else? You’re looking at the guy with the _Magic_. But maybe….” Zach closed his eyes.

Dean fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. His CEO was delusional. That was the only explanation. He made no sense. He knew Sam was outside waiting for him and all of a sudden he didn’t want to be in the room anymore, he _feared_ what he might be told.

Zach opened his eyes. “Yes… I think that it is time.” He smiled once again at Dean and reached out to place his pointer and middle finger against Dean’s forehead. Dean felt lightening shoot through his body. His consciousness clouded over and then snapped back into clarity. He gasped and glared at Zachariah.

“Are you with me _now_ , Mr Winchester?” Zachariah smirked.

“You son of a _bitch_!” Dean growled and attempted to leap over the desk. Zachariah snapped his fingers and Dean fell back into his seat, a look of disgust on his face.

“We wanted to give you a _break_. You understand, right? It’s all part of the Grand Plan. Now, you weren’t supposed to start having _sexual relations_ with your brother…” Dean paled. “But then again, you two always find your way back to each other… Back to Hunting. You two are so co-dependant on each other, it’s sickening.”

“What’s _sickening_ , Zach is that you would do this to us in the first place. How you could make me do those- those _things_ to my brother.” Dean narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

“Ah. But you see, Dean. We didn’t _make_ you do anything to Sam. We plucked you from your beds, gave you alternate pasts and identities. But everything you experienced with Sam? That was all you, Dean-O. Those were your thoughts and actions, not ours. Now.” Zachariah smiled and stood. “We _could_ wipe your memory. Make you forget everything but the Hunt. We did it for Sam. All he will remember is that the two of you dispatched a ghost today. He is down at that _monstrosity_ of a thing you call a car waiting for you to finish up here. You on the other hand… Well, I think you should remember _everything_.”

Zachariah disappeared in a flurry of wind and invisible feathers. “Fuck you, Zachariah! You are one shady fucking Angel!”

Dean picked up his paperweight and threw it at the frosted door. The glass shattered, flying everywhere. He swept his computer off the desk and pushed his chair across the room. Dean grabbed his bag and stomped from the office, smashing glass into the carpet as he went. He turned right and headed to the elevator. Dean stabbed the Lobby button repeatedly until the doors closed. He tapped his oxford covered foot and looked down at himself. At least he wore an expensive suit that day, complete with suspenders and a silk tie. The hand-stretched Italian leather shoes on his feet cost four hundred bucks alone. Dean felt maybe it was a partial win.

He walked across the Lobby, his loafers clacking on the marble with each step. As he neared the door, his heart began to race. Dean swore he was going to have a heart attack. What if Zachariah had been lying to him? What if Sam remembered everything and thought Dean _molested_ him?

Dean stopped meer feet from the door, gripped in panic. His palms began to feel clammy and sweat broke out on his brow. Dean rung his hands and absently wiped them on his wool trousers. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his breath.

_More than a feeling…. When I hear that old song they used to play_

Dean’s eyes snapped open. Sam’s favourite Boston song was _blaring_ from the Impala. Dean felt weak in the knees as he approached the glass fronted doors. His hand had just touched the handle when Sam looked up and met Dean’s eyes, his face beaming brighter than the Sun.

_So many people have come and gone. Their faces fade as the years go by. Yet I still recall as I wander on, as clear as the Sun in the summer sky_

Sam must have seen the terror on Dean’s face, because he pushed off the side of the Impala and all but _ran_ to the door. He reached the outside door just as Dean was pulling it open. 

“Dean.” Sam gasped. “Are you- Is everything okay?”

Dean watched as Sam’s eyes roved over his body checking him for any injuries. Sam grabbed Dean’s arms and ran his hands over his suit coat possessively. He manhandled Dean in a circle, pushing and poking at his flesh. “I’m fine, Sam.” Dean chided. “I just- It’s- Sorry I took so long. Zachariah showed up-”

“Zachariah? The Angel?” Sam questioned.

“No, the Actor.” Dean scoffed as Sam threw _Bitchface Number Fifty-one_. “Of course the _Angel_.”

“Quit being a dick, Jerk.”

“Stop being a little bitch, Bitch.”

“I was _worried_. You come out looking like you’re in full on panic mode, dude. What did you _expect_ me to do?” Sam bit his bottom lip. “Com’on, Dean. Let’s get you to the car. I’m sure your- _whatever moment_ with Zachariah has something to do with this.”

“Yeah. Sure, Sammy.” Dean allowed himself to be pushed toward the car. “Let’s just get the _fuck_ outta here, yeah?”

Dean got in the passenger seat and tried to relax. He smiled as his baby brother ducked in the car. Sam laughed as he threw the car in drive. Dean smiled at his dimples and- _Fuck… He was so screwed…_. Boston ended and The Marshall Tucker Band started. Dean raised an eyebrow as Sam hummed along to _Heard it in a Love Song_. “Dude. Thought you _hated_ this song. Said it was too sappy with a mix of… Oh, yeah- Fuck you.”

“Well…” Sam started. Dean pursed his lips and sat still in the car waiting for Sam’s answer. “Now, it reminds me of you. And for that… I love it.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _More than a Feeling_ was written by Tom Scholz and recorded by Boston.
> 
>  
> 
> **"Heard It In A Love Song"**  
>  _I ain't never been with a woman long enough_  
>  _For my boots to get old_  
>  _We've been together so long now_  
>  _They both need resoled_
> 
>   _If I ever settle down_  
>  _You'd be my kind_  
>  _And it's a good time for me_  
>  _To head on down the line_
> 
>   _Heard it in a love song [3x]_  
>  _Can't be wrong_
> 
>   _I'm the kinda man likes to get away_  
>  _Like to start dreaming about_  
>  _Tomorrow, today_  
>  _Never said that I love you_  
>  _even though it's so_  
>  _Where's that duffle bag of mine?_  
>  _It's time to go_
> 
> _Heard it in a love song [3x]_   
>  _Can't be wrong_
> 
>   _I'm gonna be leaving_  
>  _At the break of dawn_  
>  _Wish you could come_  
>  _But I don't need no woman tagging along_  
>  _I'll sneak out that door_  
>  _Couldn't stand to see you cry_  
>  _I'd stay another year if I saw teardrops in your eyes_
> 
>   _Heard it in a love song [3x]_  
>  _Can't be wrong_
> 
>   _I never had a damn thing, but what I had_  
>  _I had to leave it behind_  
>  _You're the hardest thing_  
>  _I ever tried to get off my mind_  
>  _Always something greener on the other side of that hill_  
>  _I was born a wrangler and a rounder_  
>  _And I guess I always will_
> 
>   _Heard it in a love song [3x]_  
>  _Can't be wrong_
> 
>  
> 
>   **"More Than A Feeling"**  
>  _I looked out this morning and the sun was gone_  
>  _Turned on some music to start my day_  
>  _I lost myself in a familiar song_  
>  _I closed my eyes and I slipped away_
> 
>   _It's more than a feeling, when I hear that old song they used to play_  
>  _(more than a feeling)_  
>  _I begin dreaming (more than a feeling)_  
>  _'Till I see Marianne walk away_  
>  _I see my Marianne walkin' away_
> 
> _So many people have come and gone_   
>  _Their faces fade as the years go by_   
>  _Yet I still recall as I wander on_   
>  _As clear as the sun in the summer sky_
> 
> _It's more than a feeling, when I hear that old song they used to play_   
>  _(more than a feeling)_   
>  _I begin dreaming (more than a feeling)_   
>  _'Till I see Marianne walk away_   
>  _I see my Marianne walkin' away_
> 
> _When I'm tired and thinking cold_   
>  _I hide in my music, forget the day_   
>  _And dream of a girl I used to know_   
>  _I closed my eyes and she slipped away_   
>  _She slipped away_
> 
> _It's more than a feeling, when I hear that old song they used to play_   
>  _(more than a feeling)_   
>  _I begin dreaming (more than a feeling)_   
>  _'Till I see Marianne walk away_


End file.
